


A Certain Kind of Madness

by Tabithian



Series: Port of Call [2]
Category: Batman (Comics), DCU, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-06
Updated: 2016-01-06
Packaged: 2018-05-12 03:28:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5650879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tabithian/pseuds/Tabithian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Strays hang around Tim's shop because the guy's a soft touch.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Certain Kind of Madness

**Author's Note:**

> IDK, I found [this post](http://tabithian.tumblr.com/post/132456265114/cywscross-noivern-people-dont-give-you-the) again? SO.
> 
> *hands*

Strays hang around Tim's shop because the guy's a soft touch. 

Weird little things that aren't native to the planet, or even this system. Like the ship's cats of old on Earth, some race started exploring the stars with the little monsters aboard. For company or to battle whatever pests they might encounter, no one's really sure anymore. 

Small, furry with mostly useless wings scientists attribute to the evolutionary process on their home planet, developed to allow them to hunt small prey. Mostly useless now, but they can glide if they find a spot high enough, and the wings help them get to spots any Earth cat would envy.

Go to any planet with an atmosphere humans can breathe and you're as likely to find them as you are the cats that went to space with humans.

Little places like this, you're bound to find both. Interbreeding isn't possible despite the close resemblance they bear to one another, but they're similar enough in nature and temperament that they tend to come together in these little communities, _prides_.

Tim feeds them in bowls lined up all nice and neat in the alley behind his shop. Refills the water dishes several times a day and has the gall to look innocent when Jason or the others side-eye him about how much of his budget goes into spoiling the damn things.

There's one, though. 

Small, runt of its litter with deep black fur and this way of dismissing anyone it deems inferior with a look, and Jason.

Look, he doesn't go around naming the damn strays the way Tim or the others do, it's just.

There's no pretending it doesn't remind him of a certain brat back on Earth, not with that attitude. 

Tim thinks it's hilarious, because the stupid thing will follow Jason around when he's in port, lurking like a sullen teenager and making sure to flaunt just how much it doesn't care about Jason with everything it is. (The hilarious part is that it used to do the same to Tim, when it first started coming around, now it's like the thing's jealous of Jason, which is its own brand of weird right there.)

“You're a bad influence.”

Tim shrugs, reaching out to scritch the chin of one of the cats as it brushes against him. “You're imagining things, you know how they are.”

Like someone managed to cross a cat with a dragon, is what people used to say, when humans first discovered the damn things.

Noble, regal, stuck up as hell.

Fierce little fighters, hell on any pests that might pop up, and utterly impossible to live with.

And Tim has a veritable army of the things working in tandem with the handful of cats that stick around to keep the pests away and guard Tim's shop when he closes up for the night. (Although, really, it's more that they prowl the neighborhood for a bit before following Tim up to the apartment he has over the shop and sprawling over everything.)

They flock to Tim because he's the idiot who feeds them and leaves water out for them. Sticks them in little carriers to take to the local vet if one of them get sick or hurt, and have very low tolerance for many other people.

Point is, the things are everywhere. Getting underfoot the moment Tim closes shop because they know it means the tourists with the grabby hands are gone for the day and the braver ones can come out of hiding to play.

“There has to be a health code against this,” Jason says, watching one of the things flutter its way up to the stool beside him, look of determination on its face. “I mean, seriously.”

Tim glances at Jason, eyebrows raised, and yeah, okay.

Jason's the last person who's going to call the local law enforcement down on Tim for anything, considering. (Pots and kettles, like the little shit's always reminding him.)


End file.
